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WHY DO WE GATHER?
RELIGIOUS COMMUNITY AND THE TRANSFORMING JOURNEY
by
Rose Hoover, rc
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We live in an age when young adults rarely
consider religious life an option for their own lives. Are we dinosaurs? If we
are not, then why is it that we come together in religious communities in this
day and age—or in any day and age? I am not going to tackle the question of why
we have consecrated life in any form, but will simply reflect on the purpose of
religious community, whether we are talking about community under one roof or
community in a broader sense that does not necessarily mean living together.
Why do we gather? For example, are we brought together as religious for the
purpose of a particular task? Do we form community for the sake of the ministry
we do? Many groups do join together for a task—music groups and sports teams,
for example. Some groups even live together to make the job easier, like the ad
hoc assemblages on some of the reality shows. We too have a task, and for
religious, this is usually a task not only precious to us, but valuable for the
people of God. It is true that good community life can assist us in the
carrying-out of our ministry. But is ministry the primary reason we come
together? Today, in most cases, other people do the same ministries we do, and
do them just as well as we do, without being members of religious communities.
If religious community is for the purpose of performing our ministry, and if the
ministry no longer necessitates coming together in community, then is our
gathering as consecrated religious also unnecessary?
What about relationships? There was a lot of talk a few years ago about
relational communities as opposed to task-oriented communities. A quick internet
search shows that the concept is far from dead today. As Christians we are
indeed called to be in relationship both with God and with each other. Without
the relational element, any individual, much less any community, is bound to be
lifeless. Consequently, relationships and companionship must be nourished in
religious life. However, although loving presence is absolutely necessary for
consecrated life, companionship—even deep relationship—can be had in other ways,
some of them far easier than religious community. Besides, neither friendship
nor companionship can be the main purpose of religious community. As Antoine de
Saint-Exupéry writes in Wind, Sand and Stars, “Love does not consist in gazing
at each other, but in looking together in the same direction.”1 When
our primary gaze in Christian community is on each other, rather than on Christ,
relationships cannot lead to true communion.
Can religious community exist for the purpose of making the practical details of
life more economical or more simple? It certainly can do that, though it does
not always. In our university town, we see students who live together to save
money and sometimes to make life less burdensome and leave more time and energy
for studies. We know that religious community too can be a good model for simple
and economical living—even for gospel poverty. But is this all there is to it?
What about security? People throughout the centuries have banded together for
the sake of security. Gated communities are thriving today. California lays
claim to at least three gated cities—basically walled towns: Rolling Hills,
Hidden Hills, and Canyon Lake. There are probably people who did enter religious
life to be safe from the dangers of the “world.” (Not to mention the others who
tried, but were not accepted, like the woman who told me she wanted to “escape
the demons.”) We know from experience that religious community is no way to flee
the world, if for no other reason than that the world walks right in with us.
Security, therefore, cannot be the purpose of coming together as religious.
There has to be more to religious community than any of these, more even than
all of these together. The Quaker Parker Palmer, who at the time he was writing
was part of an intentional community, puzzled over the longevity of monastic
community, especially given the difficulties of community life. He concluded
that it is because the monks “created a form of community that brings them
together not for the purpose of togetherness but to support each other in the
rigors of the inward journey.”
2
To support each other in the rigors of the inward journey: the inward
journey, the spiritual journey, is indeed rigorous. It has no less a goal than
transforming union with Jesus Christ. That, after all, is the Christian call.
Along the way, the road can be rocky, and pitfalls can lurk in our path. There
are periods of discouragement on the journey, as well as periods of joy, peace,
and love. There are moments when we are astonished by grace, and others when we
are thoroughly bored; times when we are tempted to take the easy path of
complacency, and times when we are strong against the wiles of the enemy;
moments when we have glimmers of understanding and others when we are miserably
confused.
Truly a rigorous journey this is, more rigorous than the Tour de France or the
Iditarod or the ascent of Mount Everest—and one that is much too arduous to be
undertaken alone. Without each other, the journey can be well nigh impossible.
So yes, I would agree with Parker Palmer about
the rigors of the inward journey. I believe, too, that whether we knew it or not
when we said yes to religious life, this journey is the primary reason we
entered. It is a purpose that God knew, even if we did not—the call to give
ourselves wholly to God in this journey of transforming union in love.
Demands of the Spiritual Journey
This spiritual journey not only blesses us with the joy of being loved and
forgiven, it also demands much of us.
First, it would seem to go without saying that the inner journey requires
prayer. Nevertheless, I believe it does need to be said, because while for some
people, prayer may be pure joy, for others, prayer truly is a rigorous
obligation. And as for praying together, some find it no burden at all, while
others are sorely tested by common prayer. The spiritual journey asks us to find
the courage to carve out leisure for prayer and presence (both to God and to
each other) when society—and sometimes religious life as well—would instead
reward us for constant activity. How many times have we heard someone say with a
hint of pride in her voice, “I haven’t had a day off in months”? Or maybe we
have even made that boast ourselves.
The spiritual journey requires us to learn
compassion toward the uncompassionate and to love those who do not love us. It
asks us to see loveliness in those who appear unlovely, recognizing how
incredibly beautiful we all are. The spiritual journey demands an
acknowledgement of our own sinfulness, our helplessness, and our inability to
understand either ourselves or the God who loves us and in whose image we are
made.
The spiritual journey in religious life means being favored with a vision of
life—but usually without visions. It involves taking on the mind of Christ who
emptied himself. It means not clinging to anything, holding nothing back. This
journey obliges us to take one step at a time, without knowing the end of the
road and often without even being certain whether the next step is the right
one. It can take us through an interior landscape where it may seem as if
someone has removed all the highway markers; and the weather can be so obscure
that we barely see our hands in front of our faces, much less perceive the
presence of God.
But what a trip it is! Formidable though the way may be, it is precisely here
that we find our delight. After all, the God who created the universe, who fills
the cosmos, who is and was and ever shall be, this God is, amazingly enough,
both our companion and our destination. After beginning on this path, any other
way seems insipid, hardly worth the trouble of putting one foot in front of the
other.
To nurture this wondrous journey and to smooth its progress, we come together as
community. We gather in order to support each other by our words, our prayers,
and our presence; to encourage each other as well in the silence and solitude we
need. And when we become discouraged, like Elijah lying under the broom tree, we
take for each other the role of the angel who said, “Get up and eat, otherwise
the journey will be too much for you” (1 Kings 19:7 NRSV).
If we are truthful, though, we will admit that sometimes our sisters and
brothers themselves can be part of the “burning of the noontide heat, and the
burden of the day.”3 The community may be the very reason we long
to crawl under the broom tree and disappear in sleep. But the burdens and the
blessings of the road are intermingled and often indistinguishable one from the
other. What seems like a burden may in reality be a blessing, and each blessing
tends to bring with it its own weight, imperceptible at times, unbearable at
others. In community, as we accompany each other along the way, as we support
each other in the rigors of the spiritual journey, we are for each other
burden-bearers, burdens, and blessings.
What, then is the role of our ministry? Is the value of ministry lessened if the
work we are called to do is not the primary reason we are brought together? On
the contrary. Apart from the inward journey, our ministry lacks integrity. A
religious community with a task—even a noble task—as its primary purpose and
goal risks allowing both the community and the task to become sterile. The
apostolate is inseparable from the journey of transforming union. Flowing out of
the journey, rather than usurping its place, our ministry flowers and reaches
fruition, for it becomes more and more the work of Christ, as we ourselves are
being transformed into the compassionate and merciful presence of Christ for
each other and for the world.
____________________
1 Aimer, ce n'est pas se regarder l'un l'autre,
c'est regarder ensemble dans la même direction.
2 Parker Palmer, "The Monastic Way to Church Renewal," Desert Call,
Winter 1987: 8-9.
3 Elizabeth C. Clephane, “Beneath the Cross of Jesus,” 1868.
. . . . . . . . . .
Copyright © 2007-2009
by Rose Hoover, rc,
Sisters of the Cenacle
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